


Repent

by alba17



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Prison, Prison Sex, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 13:48:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4265523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alba17/pseuds/alba17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A septa takes repentance to a new level.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repent

**Author's Note:**

> I never thought I’d sympathize with Cersei, but it’s her feelings for her children that provide the one way in to feeling for her. I don’t know quite why I thought of this with regard to the the septas, but here it is. Cersei’s walk of shame gave me a lot of feelings, but this takes place before. 
> 
> Note: I haven’t read the books.

“Repent.” The septa glowers. Under her wimple, her face is a pudgy white square of disapproval.

The word evaporates soundlessly into the dank shadows of Cersei’s cell. She licks her dry lips. In her mind, she sees Tommen playing a game in a green field. The sun catches his hair, his face pink with exertion as she and Jaime clap from the sidelines. The day is golden, destined to live shining into a flawless future.

“Confess.” The ‘c’ explodes from the septa’s lips. The ’s’ slithers, a delectable piece of eel to add to her sense of self-satisfaction. Her lips are fleshy and colorless, her eyes dull with a sheen of fanaticism that can’t be faked.

Myrcella totters towards Cersei, arms reaching out, delighted at her new-found ability to walk. The stone cold against her cheek, Cersei holds her arms out and murmurs encouraging words. Burbling, Myrcella falls into Cersei’s arms, clasping her hands around Cersei’s neck. Milk-fresh breath flutters against Cersei’s face.

“Confess.” The voice rasps into her ear, the sound bereft of meaning.

Her knees hurt. Empty, her stomach clenches against nothing. She shifts her body and the frigid rock, her new friend, stays implacably in place. 

Gilded, silky hair against her breast, lanky legs tumbling to the side as his lips clasp her nipple. Her fingers slide through the light strands of Joffrey’s hair. Her first born, her own eyes staring back at her. She knows he will be the one to stake her claim on the world, her husband be damned.

“Confess.” The meaningless word, again, in that bitch’s voice, like a mob pounding against the city gates.

Eyes forward, stitched to the opposite wall. Her ears stretch listening for rescue. 

Abruptly, a hand closes off her windpipe. “No one’s coming, Lannister cunt. It’s just you and me.”

She can’t help how her eyes widen and her heart pulsates wildly against that dull, implacable gaze. Even as she’s drawn in, the septa’s hand wiggles between her legs, pushing until Cersei’s legs are forced to widen.

Her jaw clenches and she almost growls. Stiff fingers pierce her labia. Her breath catches hard in her throat. The face floats above her, thick skirts falling between them. If Cersei moves, she’ll feel it more. She sees herself shove off the septa, bash her head into the stone wall until blood puddles satisfyingly on the floor. But she remains still. The situation paralyzes her with its shocking unexpected newness.

“This is what you like, isn’t it, Queen Cersei. I bet you don’t care much who it is as long as there’s something stiff between your legs.” The septa sneers, her soft plushy face looming inches away. She makes a sound low in her throat and her hand forces itself further inside. Cersei’s face crumples and her body collapses lower along the rock wall. 

She can take this. She must. This woman is a misguided fool, her mind turned to mush by religion. And Cersei takes a moment to mentally spit at the High Sparrow, the man who pulled the ultimate move on her. She still can’t believe he took her in. She must live so she can take her vengeance on the man who played her for the ultimate fool. Her, Queen Cersei of King’s Landing, wife of King Robert, mother of kings. How dare he? How dare this crawling specimen who belongs under the earth, among the vermin who are her natural kind? 

Cersei can take this, it’s just her body, and when has she put that much value on her body alone? She’s more than that. She’s a Lannister, and that means something. Her blood, her line, her children who need her - for them, she must endure the endless indignities of her imprisonment. She can do it. One day, she’ll be free. And then. Then they will know exactly what Cersei Lannister is capable of.

The septa’s fingernails scrape her insides. With every stroke, Cersei’s hate grows. This woman will pay. The High Sparrow will pay. And all his minions. The man pretends to be humble, of the people. What a joke.

The septa’s hand pushes in farther and Cersei winces. She’d spit in her face if her mouth wasn’t dry as the desert. Her hips jerk and her mouth turns down. She almost cries but she won’t give the septa the satisfaction. 

From her parched throat, the words struggle to come. “Bitch.You will pay. All of you.”

A raucous laugh; the fingers jerk inside her and the septa pushes her face in close. “You’re done. All of you sinners are done. The High Sparrow has announced.” Her mouth twists with hatred. 

Cersei grunts, barely holding on. The woman’s hand shoves harder and her legs clasp around hers, skirts billowing so the act is hidden. The septa’s weight pounds against Cersei’s, her hips pulsating like a man fucking. It hurts, the scrape and scratch of the fingers inside her, but Cersei’s face remains impassive. She refuses to show any reaction to the septa’s assault. 

Days ago, she’d noticed the septa’s oddly intense gaze. She’d written it off as religious fervor. but now she sees it was more than that. She gasps when the septa pauses, shaking and breathing hard, her hand still inside her, hands heavy on Cersei’s shoulders. Cersei can feel the weight of the septa’s breasts against her own, her bulk, the whispery drag of the voluminous skirts and the damp heaviness of the air. Her throat closes and she almost cries out. She tells herself, it’s almost over, she can take it. 

This is the worst part of it, she hopes. Soon she’ll be home, where her mind can clear. Where she can make her plans.

Her head is turned toward the wall, feet braced on the floor. The septa’s breath is too close, her body too close, pressed against Cersei’s, the skimpy threadbare shift pushed up to her waist, the floor cold against her buttocks. 

She’s ashamed and wants to disappear. She, the most powerful woman in the world, and it makes her even more ashamed to think of her position. 

The septa’s breath huffs in a sigh that feels final and Cersei lets herself fractionally relax, hoping this is it. The fingers inside her slide out and Cersei’s eyes clench in relief. All the air goes out of her. 

The septa grabs her chin, forcing Cersei to look at her. “You’re no better than us, Lannister cunt. Remember that.” She pushes Cersei away and bustles out of the cell. 

It’s over. Cersei’s eyes close again. There’s a flicker of memory, golden heads and laugher bobbing against a field of green and she holds on to that. Her children will get her through. She has to keep them close in her mind, as her body collapses, spent, against the rough stones of her cell. Dust, straw and filth fill her nose, but it’s a relief to relax on the floor, the woman gone.

With time, the urgency of vengeance gathers in her mind. It’s the only thing that gets her through.

Finally, she has an audience with the High Sparrow. She’s the queen. He’ll sympathize. She’s paid her dues, surely. She rises, half-naked in her shift, but neck strong and chin high. It’s her due. She’s a Lannister, queen and mother of kings. The High Sparrow will see.


End file.
